


Near Miss

by ActualHurry



Category: Ghost of Tsushima (Video Game)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre Act 2, Spoilers, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25448395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: Despite Ryuzo’s turmoil, Jin considers them friends, and somehow the bridge between them is yet unburned.(Contains spoilers for end of Act 1.)
Relationships: Sakai Jin/Ryuzo
Comments: 25
Kudos: 182





	Near Miss

**Author's Note:**

> Here there be spoilers. (puts singing crickets everywhere because my heart is a graveyard)
> 
> Disclaimer: I've only seen up to the start of Act 2. If stuff changes in hindsight, I might edit it, but mostly I'll just keep this as it is.

It is always when the sun has not quite set and the sky has not yet turned its dark shade of plum that Jin finds him. In these between spaces, Jin seeks out Ryuzo, riding in straight-backed, wide-shouldered, jaw set. There’s never any sign of uncertainty in his even gaze or calm step. He is the picture of _samurai_ ; save, it seems, for the kunai that rattled on him like chimes when he changed into the Straw Hats’ clothing, and the tanto that always gleams sharper than even his carefully crafted sword. 

Ryuzo wishes that Jin was unrecognizable to him this way. It would make everything so much easier. Yet, of everyone, he is sure that he has the best eye for Jin’s shadows. He’s felt the lack of his mercy. He’s known the edge of his spite. He is familiar with the bone-shattering force of _Jin_ , like a storm, like a tempest. 

Unshakable, his old friend is. Ryuzo stares over his camp and counts his men twice more before joining them in welcoming Jin, who has arrived just in time for a spoonful of rice.

If any of the Straw Hats offer him a bite, Ryuzo will assign the offending party late night _and_ morning watch.

“How has everything been?” Jin asks once Ryuzo has led him to his own hideaway, a turned-corner away from the rest of the men. It’s hardly home; only a propped up set of branches for a roof, a cloth rolled out. Sake, waiting. Almost no space, all of these things crowded together by the rocks flanking either side of them. If Ryuzo snidely apologizes for the accommodations, then Jin will let it roll off of him like water.

Ryuzo dismisses his sharp tongue and trades it for a tone more dry. “Very peaceful,” he says, sitting down beneath the shade of the rock that he’s made his wall. “Once we killed most of the bandits in the area, at least.”

“Then I take it morale is good.” 

“As good as it can be on our rations.” At that, Jin pauses for a second too long, and Ryuzo glances at him sidelong without quite looking up. “Don’t,” he adds.

Jin’s lips thin from the wry smile that was nearly forming. “An ally discovered a quiet supply line in Yagata. They don’t know the forest as well as we do, and it would be—”

“An excellent opportunity for you to suggest another merry chase to my men? A chase that got half of them captured, caused two to desert, and _didn’t_ fill our bellies?” Ryuzo scoffs, cutting his hand through the air as if slashing right through the idea of it. 

Jin stays quiet, though slowly he lowers himself to sit in front of Ryuzo, still fully immersed in the heat of the dying sun. The hat he wears is not the one Ryuzo gave him; it’s nicer. His clothes are dyed a blue so black that it swallows the light whole. Count on Jin to be given a ratty extra robe and make it into something like this.

Ryuzo feels the same as he ever has next to him.

“I’m sorry,” Jin says, his voice low. His gaze is set somewhere below Ryuzo’s face. Ryuzo’s throat is hollowed-out, empty of complaint. “I thought that I would mention it, and that it would be up to you to decide what to do with the information.”

Ryuzo remains silent this time. Jin’s eyes suddenly meet his, and so they stare, until Ryuzo breaks, turning his head to the side altogether.

“I did not say anything in front of your men,” Jin points out when Ryuzo still does not speak.

If he means to coax Ryuzo, it only needles him instead. Ryuzo wants to _bite_ : the bait or Jin, he doesn’t know. But the Straw Hats are counting on him. They are _his_ to care for — and if he takes this information, he does not have to take Jin along with him.

“Yagata, you said?” Ryuzo eventually murmurs, taking off his hat to brush a sweaty strand of hair from his face.

“I have a map,” Jin offers, already extending it, and Ryuzo thinks, _of course he does_ , as he takes it from him wearily.

“And this is from a good source?” 

Jin nods. “The best.” 

Ryuzo looks up at him briefly for that. “If you praise anyone, it’s yourself first. Who’s your source?” 

“I met her after Komoda. She is strong. Skilled. She saved my life.” 

It isn’t envy curling up hot in Ryuzo’s stomach to take the place of the emptiness there. It is something, but it isn’t envy. He refuses to be jealous anymore of anything to do with Jin Sakai. “You speak so highly of her.” 

“Wouldn’t you?”

Such a heavy question spoken with unbearable lightness. Ryuzo has not a clue what to do with it. So Jin had someone pull him from the mire instead of leaving him to bleed in it; that was nothing out of the ordinary. Always, Jin had someone there. Ryuzo would never dare take the hand outstretched to him; he’d sooner slice it off and climb out himself, consequences be damned. Only one of them could afford kindness, and Ryuzo was long past thinking anyone capable of real altruism.

He clears his throat, folding away the map once more as if he has not spent all this time staring down at it without seeing a spot of the ink. He’ll go over it later with his best scout and see what he thinks. 

“The night grows near, Jin,” says Ryuzo, forcing himself to smile. “I hate to keep you from what the dark brings you.” 

“As luck would have it, I set aside this night for rest,” Jin replies, and there’s that lightheartedness again, the one that’s slowly driving Ryuzo up the nearest cliff face and right off. “I have a long ride ahead of me. There’s news to the south of a resistance force. I was planning on leaving at daybreak to reach them.” 

“I have no bed for you,” Ryuzo says before he can think better of it.

“I’ve brought my own.” 

“You’ll sleep hungry, we have nothing to share.” 

“Don’t worry yourself. I need none of your food.” 

Ryuzo opens his mouth and shuts it again, finding no words that will not immediately burn whatever thin, rickety bridge that somehow remains between them. Jin thinks them friends. _Still_. There is _warmth_ when he speaks to Ryuzo, warmth that Ryuzo simply cannot feel for him any longer. Only distance — and distance is so much colder.

Jin raises his dark brows slightly in challenge, but when Ryuzo only takes his hat off and sets it down, he seems to soften. “Ryuzo…” 

“No, no,” Ryuzo interrupts, quick. “It’s fine. Stay, if it’s what you want.” Yes, why not impose for the rest of the night, why not? “Who am I to tell my lord where he can and cannot make his bed?”

Jin blinks. For just a second, the light of the setting sun sets his eyes on fire as if he’s every bit the righteous and revered nephew of the jitō that looked down at Ryuzo, humiliated and alone, cradling his arm with not a lick of mercy or recognition.

And then the sun is gone from the horizon and there is only the scarce light that remains casting him in soft shadow.

Ryuzo can barely breathe.

Jin rises. He bows. “Instead,” he says, “I think I will take first watch.” 

And then he’s gone.

Ryuzo spends his night studying the map, the supply line, the best routes to get there. His scout praises the intel, and Ryuzo scowls so deeply it feels as if his face will stick that way. Jin returns as the moon hangs high in the sky, and Ryuzo dismisses his scout, less worried about Jin knowing that he’s taking this idea seriously and more worried about Jin saying something that oversteps yet again.

Jin begins settling his goza mat. To Ryuzo’s surprise, it looks much the same as his own, only thin, meager cloth that barely keeps the wet dirt from his back. Ah, but this is war. Even the nephew of Lord Shimura has to make do. 

“I know,” Jin begins, “that you don’t want me to stay. Not even for a night.” 

Ryuzo stares at him, laying down on his own mat. “Not really. No.” 

“But you have not told me to leave.” Jin is delicate and careful with his blade as he rests it aside, removing his hat to place safely next to his goza mat. He is graceful even in these motions, a samurai from birth. He has never needed to prove a thing.

“You enjoy staying where you’re unwanted?” Ryuzo shakes his head and lays down fully on his own mat, staring up at the leaves of trees, the laughing glitter of the stars. 

“I enjoy time with my friend,” Jin tells him, his voice closer now, and when Ryuzo turns onto his side towards him, he realizes there really _isn’t_ much space here. Jin is so close, and there is nowhere for either of them to go, backs nearly pressed to the rocks flanking this little hideaway. It was easier to forget when they were sitting, but now, but _now_ … 

Ryuzo is shaken from his traitorous distraction by Jin continuing, “Is that wrong of me?” 

“…No,” Ryuzo says. “But if you treat your friends the way you treat me, I would hate to see the way you treat your enemies.” 

Jin’s eyes are pitch pools where he gazes at Ryuzo. “You have seen the way I treat my enemies.” 

“I have also seen the way you’ve treated _me_ ,” Ryuzo snaps, patience running thin doubly as quick with this excess of closeness. He wants to press his hand to Jin’s chest and shove him back, wants to regain some breathing room. But all he can do is stare and frown. “Do you break all your friends in front of the whole of Tsushima?” 

Ryuzo sees Jin’s jaw clench, but there’s no anger on his face — only the slightest tug of his brows furrowing together like he’s concerned. Of course he is. “Ryuzo…” 

“Stop it.” Ryuzo tries to sound commanding, every bit the leader he knows he is, but with his voice so soft it only manages to resemble a plea. Something in him shatters at the fragility he feels in it. “You have no idea. It’s been two summers, Jin. Maybe I’m not your friend anymore.” 

But Jin has always been stubbornly certain of his own perspective, and he only rolls onto his back to speak to the open air. “If not my friend, then what are you?” 

It sounds so lilting, but Ryuzo feels the barbs in the words as if Jin has wrapped thorns around him. Once, Ryuzo had asked a similar question with their bodies warm and close, Jin’s hand skating down his chest and resting at his hip —

It’s only a flash of a memory before Ryuzo shuts it down with a swear under his breath, but that’s all Jin wanted to provide him. 

“Go to sleep,” Ryuzo tells him, rolling over so that it’s his back to Jin now. “You have a long ride tomorrow, remember?” 

Jin says nothing in reply, and it’s Ryuzo who finds no rest, the nape of his neck prickling with awareness. Whether it is because of the man hot and real behind him or the Ghost waiting there, he doesn’t know. At this point, they’re one and the same.

* * *

The next time they meet, it is outside of a farmstead in Yagata.

The Straw Hats are full and sated, proud and raucous; the supply line that they raided in the forest was stealing from the nearby farmstead, and the farmers thanked them with more food and drink. This left them with enough for the night and then some. It’s been a long time since Ryuzo has seen all his men so happy. He remembers them singing the nights they were caged. It’s better this way, Ryuzo decides. No cages, and _all_ his men fed.

Jin finds them as he always does, the wind blowing lazily at his back. Pampas pollen drifts past him as he rides in, lit glowing by the light of the moon. Ryuzo watches him for longer than he should, and Jin does not look away from him except to dismount his horse. 

But the Straw Hats are laughing and cheering, and Ryuzo is half-drunk on sake, and it is easier than any time before to grin wide and beckon Jin in himself. 

“The Ghost has graced us again!” Ryuzo calls, and the men cackle and laugh around the fire. Jin almost smiles.

“Straw Hats,” Jin says, coming to Ryuzo’s side. He bows at him. Ryuzo nearly drops his sake. “I am glad.” 

There is that warmth again. Ryuzo doesn’t feel as if it will burn him to reach for it. Not tonight.

“Jin,” says Ryuzo, standing. He bows, feeling clumsy somehow, and then offers the sake out to him. Jin takes a long sip, hums once, and Ryuzo takes it back even though he feels as if the image of Jin’s head tipped back and the line of his throat might very well haunt him. Quickly, Ryuzo finishes off the meager amount of drink left. “Walk with me,” he tells Jin. 

Together, they set off into the forest. Yagata is crowded by white birch, tall and thin, and the spindly branches do not shade from the moon well. The silver light pierces the forest and leaves Jin looking as if he is the subject of a painting. Ryuzo feels as if he is a captive audience based on this appearance alone; then, he feels that twinge of frustration that ever accompanies Jin.

Still, it bleeds away from him quickly, washed away by sake and a full belly, and Ryuzo does not sound like he’s lying when he says, “Thank you, Jin.” 

“It helped me too,” Jin replies, though his eyes narrow in a smile as he looks at Ryuzo. “You saved me from having to make the trip south and back to deal with it myself. I was able to handle other matters instead.” 

“Ah, so you used the Straw Hats,” Ryuzo says. Jin does not argue, which would sting, if Ryuzo was not well-fed, if he could not still hear the distant clatter of his men, happy, cared for. Ryuzo shakes his head ruefully. “It was a job, then. You owe us payment.”

Jin glances over to him, stopping in his tracks. “Are you — Ryuzo.”

Ryuzo’s straight expression slowly breaks into amusement. “Hm? You think I’m joking?” Jin is still staring at him. “I would never joke about being paid,” Ryuzo assures him, but his grin can no longer be quelled.

Some baffled pleasure dawns around Jin’s mouth, subtle but sharp. “What would you take as payment? I have no money.” 

“Bah!” Ryuzo pushes his hat up to land a proper stare at Jin. “You are _the_ Lord Sakai and you have no money? Lies.”

Jin reaches out to pluck the hat off of Ryuzo’s head entirely. Ryuzo’s lips part in a protest half-formed. “Truly. I’m rich only in hides and arrows.” 

“And praise,” Ryuzo says. “And trust. And respect.”

“From you?”

“From everyone.” 

Neither of them move or break. Jin holds Ryuzo’s hat like a shield in front of himself. Ryuzo raises his hand to the hat, sap-slow, and rests his fingers over Jin’s.

“Ryuzo,” Jin murmurs.

“Jin,” says Ryuzo, just as quiet. “Sometimes…” 

“Hm?” 

“I think I hate you sometimes.”

Jin pauses for a long moment. “I wronged you.” 

“You did exactly what the jitō’s nephew was expected to do.” 

“Did you want me to go easy on you?” 

Ryuzo’s reply is instant: “No. Never. But I — I did want you to respect me.” The heat of Jin’s hand beneath his feels like it could brand him. 

“You stood against me well,” Jin says, slow. “And I did fight without considering limitations. I fought not only to win, but…”

“You fought with all of yourself.”

Jin’s gaze bears down on him. His head tilts. “Is that not respect?” 

Ryuzo’s mouth goes dry. Before he finds himself again, Jin has already placed his other hand atop Ryuzo’s, holding his touch there. The hat remains between them. 

“You said you think you hate me only sometimes,” Jin says. “What about other times?” 

Ryuzo’s head spins. He doesn’t know where to go from here; again, Jin is not one, but three steps ahead of him, beckoning him to follow. With so few words, he’s driven Ryuzo to tongue-tied, electric silence. Ryuzo looks at him, and Jin looks back, nothing hidden in either of their gazes. From Jin: only warmth and willingness to meet him halfway.

_Is that not respect?_

Ryuzo surges forward and kisses him. Jin stumbles back a half-step, then catches Ryuzo’s weight; the hat nearly falls without any hands holding onto it, but then it’s held up between the press of their bodies, not quite crushed. Ryuzo allows Jin no breath; he kisses him as if demanding all his attention, a graze of teeth against his lip meant to goad, the slickness of his tongue against Jin’s meeting halfway. 

They don’t break until Ryuzo allows it, snatching his hat before it can fall, one hand keeping Jin not so far away with fingers curled in the front of Jin’s clothes. For a time, they both stand, pupils blown and painted in moonlight, the long birch trees striping them in shadow.

How many others get to see the Ghost as he is now? Panting for breath, gripping Ryuzo so tightly on the waist that he very well could bruise and it would not be so surprising? 

“There is an inn at the farmstead, if you would prefer that,” Jin offers, his diplomatic tone falling a bit short with how breathless he sounds.

“I won’t leave my men.”

“You prefer that they hear?”

“I prefer that you stay quiet,” Ryuzo says, tugging Jin along. “If you can sneak into a Mongol camp and slit their throats one by one without setting off a single alarm, I expect you to keep it down.” 

“…Can you really compare the two?”

Ryuzo laughs, pushing Jin ahead of him into the secluded place he’s made his own camp, not so far from the fire where most of his men are beginning to settle down for the night. If they’re not careful, their voices will more than carry, and Jin will have to make an impressive walk of shame tomorrow.

Tonight, Jin has only a headband adorning his head, a simple cloak over some rags as clothing. He watches Ryuzo as Ryuzo hangs his hat off of the clutter of branches that he’s set up for his lean-to. With a glance sidelong towards Jin, Ryuzo loosens his garb, allowing his top to slide off of one shoulder. 

“Come on then,” Ryuzo tells him, low, and Jin closes the space.

His hands are hot on either side of Ryuzo’s face, his body fitting against Ryuzo’s like every other time they laid together. With practiced movements, Ryuzo removes his armor, his sword, disrobing himself of anything that might get in the way. Jin strips himself of weaponry, his blade first, and there’s the glint of kunai, the pouch of smoke bombs, the telltale tools of a samurai keeping watch over the tools of one less honorable. If Jin is bothered by this, he does not let it show.

Ryuzo lets Jin lead him down to his goza mat, but before Jin’s able to press him into it, Ryuzo shifts his posture, flips them over, Jin allowing it with a moment of frozen tension.

Atop his thighs, Ryuzo gazes down at him.

“It’s been a while for me,” Jin begins, carefully worded.

“Are you asking for a gentle touch?” 

Jin’s lips twitch at the corners. “Show some mercy.” 

Ryuzo has half a mind to give a sardonic, _yes, my lord,_ but he remembers their conversation earlier, and he remembers Jin’s own mercilessness in their duel, and he decides in that moment he will not, in fact, be completely merciful with Jin’s gap in experience. 

“How long?” Ryuzo breathes, parting Jin’s clothing, undoing the ties keeping him closed from Ryuzo’s hungry eyes. He leans down to kiss the edge of Jin’s jaw, the rough stubble there making Ryuzo’s lips tingle.

Jin’s hand settles heavy on Ryuzo’s back. “Long enough,” he murmurs, arching his body up to let Ryuzo remove the rest.

“Two summers,” Ryuzo guesses with the same swift judgment of an arrowhead meeting its mark, and when Jin says nothing, he pauses. “Really.” 

Jin palms him through his clothes then, and things turn physical rather than so verbal. Once they’re bare to one another, Ryuzo licks a stripe of wet spit up his palm and takes Jin in hand, feeling the way his hips curve into his grip, knowing exactly how he likes it, a thumb against the beading tip, palm and fingers sliding hot and fast at first only to bring Jin to a close edge, letting him hover there before drawing him back to a slower rhythm. Jin pants against Ryuzo’s neck, his breath warm and wet, and while his hold digs into Ryuzo’s back, his other hand slides into Ryuzo’s hakama to take a similar grip on his cock. 

Unashamed but nape hot with flush, Ryuzo jerks his hips forward into Jin’s hold. “Tighter,” he tells him in a whisper, and Jin huffs at his ear. 

“This feels like when we fumbled around as teenagers,” Jin mutters, taking his hand away much to Ryuzo’s complaint. In a vengeful return, Ryuzo releases him altogether, and Jin rolls his hips up until Ryuzo curses and pushes the rest of his own clothing off. “Here,” Jin adds quietly, spitting liberally into his own hand and bringing Ryuzo in close to wrap his fingers around them both. 

It’s much better then, the friction in every stroke matched by the way he can feel Jin’s heavy cock against his own. Ryuzo buries his face against Jin’s collarbone, his breaths short, the smell of sweat and dirt on Jin’s skin sending him into a flurry of desire. It’s enough for Ryuzo to close his eyes and imagine Jin’s met him down on Ryuzo’s own level, that they’re equals, not separated by anything more in this moment. Ryuzo feverishly wants for nothing other than Jin’s touch on him to never end, but soon Jin is trembling under him and his cock twitches, pulsing hot as he comes into his hand and on Ryuzo’s length. It slicks the way for Ryuzo to finish after, and he realizes foggily that Jin has bitten his shoulder to keep himself totally silent.

Ryuzo frees himself, sitting up properly for some recovering lungfuls of air. Jin lays there, peering up at him half-lidded, and Ryuzo rakes his gaze over him. 

“Not bad,” he remarks, and Jin groans, nudging Ryuzo off with a knee.

Ryuzo sleeps heavily that night, Jin on his own goza mat beside him. Their backs press together, no space left between. He wakes up blearily, once, to Jin rising and getting his things together. What comes next might be a dream, or it might not — Jin brushes a knuckle against Ryuzo’s cheek before he goes.

Ryuzo lays on his mat for a long time afterwards, then wakes all his men.

* * *

Jin gathers allies. He sees Ryuzo only once more, and it’s to be reassured that Ryuzo will be there at Castle Kaneda. It takes time. They run out of food again. This time, there are no supply lines to take down. There is no work. There is nothing.

Ryuzo can lean on no one, and wouldn’t dare to do so even if he drowned for it.

But then —

They reached Castle Kaneda before the rest of Jin’s gathered allies, before even Jin himself. His men whisper about the message they’ve been given, skirting around the word as if it’s almost dirty. _Bounty_ , one of them says finally, and Ryuzo hears it as if it’s a snake slithering into his ear.

They’ve taken bounties before. But they all know Jin, and they all know the way Jin looks at Ryuzo.

“Can they offer so much for one man?” asks a Straw Hat dubiously.

“He’s an army all on his own,” reasons another.

“No matter how good he is, he can’t take on all of them. It’s just a matter of time.” 

“Right.” 

It’s obvious which way the men lean. Starving makes even the most rotted food look like a feast. Hope is always the first thing hunger eats.

Ryuzo shuts his eyes.

“It’s work,” shrugs his best scout.

So it is.

Ryuzo stands up, one hand resting on his sword’s sheath, and begins the walk to Castle Kaneda.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, I wanted to make this sooo much more sad and like, morbid. Maybe next time.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :3


End file.
